


His Home

by sumnawaz



Category: Blood and Ash Series - Jennifer L. Armentrout
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:29:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26932168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sumnawaz/pseuds/sumnawaz
Summary: My take on the last scene of A Kingdom of Flesh and Fire, but in Casteel's perspective.
Relationships: Poppy Balfour/Casteel Da'Neer, Poppy/Casteel
Comments: 4
Kudos: 157





	His Home

**Author's Note:**

> all characters belong to Jennifer L. Armentrout.

_“I love you.”_

That’s what he should’ve said—that’s what he had _wanted_ to say. But the words, no matter how much Casteel meant them, no matter the fact that Poppy knew them to be true, hadn’t been uttered. The time. . . It didn’t feel right. Not in front of everyone watching their every move—watching _her_ every move. Those words—they were meant only for her. Everyone could see how Casteel felt about her, but only she was to hear it. So he didn’t say them, no matter how badly he wanted to.

Badly enough to still be thinking about it as Casteel watched Beckett whisk her away to the chambers, badly enough as Alastir led him to where his parents were waiting. Their presence took Casteel off guard—he could only imagine how thrown off and hesitant Poppy felt. He’d seen it, in her face, when Alastir announced that they were here, saw the flicker of relief when he told Casteel he only wanted to speak to him. So he fought every instinct that roared at him to defend her presence, to let everyone know she was his equal whether or not she was crowned, if only because Poppy seemed to need some time to pull herself together.

Still, he couldn’t help the feeling that he should’ve told her. He had no reason _not_ to tell her. She knew, though. For now, that would have to be enough.

“I know you have the habit of doing things your own way, Hawke, but _this_ .” He looked to his mother, who was shaking her head in exasperation, arms crossed, as the sleek bones of her crown glinted gently against the sunlight. Her gaze remained locked on his. Apparently, according to Alastir, talking about _matters of the kingdom_ were somehow code for ambushing Casteel with his parents. He’d have a word about this with the wolven later. Thank the Gods Poppy had decided to visit the chambers. “How could you get _married_ without informing us? And to _the Maiden_ , no less?”

Casteel pressed his teeth together, taking a breath before he looked his mother in the eye and said calmly, “She’s not the Maiden. She never was, so please don’t refer to her as such.” He looked both his parents in the eye then, chin lifting as he added, “Penellaphe is my wife. And your Princess.”

His father wasn’t entirely convinced. Of any of it. His gaze shot to Casteel’s hand, to the golden ring glinting on his finger until darkening clouds casted overhead. The King looked exasperated. “You married the Maiden as a ploy in getting your brother back. Do not deny it.”

Oh, he was getting tired of this. “I married her because I love her.” Gods, that was the truth. The undeniable truth. “I was hoping you’d see our marriage for what it is.”

Of course he was still going to get his brother back, and reunite Poppy with hers, but their marriage was for them—because he loved her and she loved him and they wanted this. 

Heartmates.

Poppy had brought it up, had wondered about it. And although the Gods were asleep and the trials weren’t something either of them thought about other than when Poppy inquired about them, Casteel knew. They were heartmates. He could feel it in his blood; blood that electrified whenever she was near, whenever he got a taste of her in any sense of the word. Everything about her was familiar. Home. She was home. She was _his_ home.

He didn’t need to convince anyone else of that, because he knew it to be the truth.

“You can’t blame us for being doubtful,” his mother said, the voice of a queen who’d seen war and lived through it. She shared her husband’s expression, exasperation mixed with dismay. Casteel would prefer it if the latter was due to missing the actual ceremony than the marriage itself. Casteel found that he wouldn’t care if they disapproved. No one would get between him and Poppy—not even his parents. “You’ve spent years trying to get Malik back, Hawke.” His mother’s voice softened and Casteel’s chest clenched, the only evidence of it in the sharp intake of his breath. “And now you’ve suddenly abandoned your plan to rescue him?”

Never. He would never abandon his brother, no matter the state he may be in. Even if Malik wasn’t fit for the throne, Casteel would fight tooth and nail and shed as much blood as he needed to so he could get his brother back. But he couldn’t tell that to his parents—or anyone. Casteel had long since grown tired of the need to explain himself to people. This was no different.

“I thought you’d be pleased with my decision to give up on Malik.” Bitter. The words tasted absolutely bitter and foul in his mouth, but he uttered them anyway, pushed past the discomfort of them. “It’s what you’ve been wanting for years.”

Something flashed in his mother’s eyes, the sorrow of a woman who’d lost a son, and something twinged in Casteel’s chest again. The clouds above were heavy, dark, though none of them seemed to notice as his mother asked, “Why the change of heart?”

His father stepped forward. “You left with the intention of bringing Malik back, putting distance between yourself and the throne—and the mere idea of getting married. And now you’re back with the Maiden as your new bride. What the godsdamn hell happened, Casteel?”

“Alastir knows the story,” the prince stated, amber eyes flicking to the advisor who remained silent throughout the whole conversation. The wolven straightened as Casteel’s gaze locked on his. “I’m sure he told you,” he added knowingly. No doubt Alastir told his parents what Casteel had fed him, and sprinkled in his own doubts as well. It was why he’d sent Kieran with him in the first place when retrieving the army to help in Spessa’s End. Casteel didn’t hide the spark of irritation in his eyes at the knowledge that Alastir still bested him in thisl. Looking back at his parents, Casteel said, “Things changed between me and _Penellaphe_.” He emphasized her name purposefully. “My marriage to her isn’t something I will apologize for.”

He watched his parents exchange looks, a silent communication between them, before they faced him once more. Casteel braced himself, hands clasped behind him, shoulders tight as he waited for them to speak. But just as his mother opened her mouth, she paused as a heavy drop of rain fell onto the bodice of her gown. Casteel’s gaze zeroed in on it.

Not rain—blood.

He jolted, just as his parents and Alastir did, tilting his head up to look at the clouds looming over their heads, dark and heavy and angry. It wasn’t a downpour, more so a slightly heavier drizzle, but there was no doubt that it wasn’t water that was raining down on them, but blood. It splashed to the ground, onto them, coloring their clothes and staining the asphalt, rendering them frozen where they stood.

It was Alastir who broke their stunned silence as he breathed out, “What in the name of the Gods?”

Hair at the back of Casteel’s neck stood up, body overcome with the sensation of something was happening—something was wrong. His eyebrows drew together in a deep frown, looking down at hands that were beginning to be speckled with the blood that fell over them. 

He heard it then, the clatter of nailed paws against the ground and the huffs of shifted wolven. Casteel looked to the left, the terrace they stood on just a level higher than the ground itself, eyes widening when he noticed several wolven in their animal forms racing away. Casteel vaguely heard his parents and Alastir questioning out loud what was happening, but Casteel’s watchful eyes tracked the wolven’s movements, noting the direction they were taking. They seemed to be heading right for—

“Poppy.”

Casteel’s heart thundered as he realized where they were going, realized that the blood rain was an omen from the Gods—one that shouted their displeasure. Poppy. Something was happening to Poppy.

Fear and dread jolted through Casteel as he sprinted in the same direction, ignoring his parents’ calls as he went, drowned by the sound of bells tolling. The wind roared in his ears as he rushed forward, the rain splattering and streaking against his face and heart thundering wildly. He didn’t care for the others who were moving in the same direction. All that was in his head was Poppy. He had to get to Poppy. Nothing else, no one else, mattered but that.

He’d arrived at the Temple and Casteel’s speed slowed in panic and wonder and everything else in between as he ascended the steps leading inside. The air rushed out of him—his eyes fought to look at everything he observed; at the newly formed Blood Tree that stood tall and strong in the center, at the twisted and mangled bodies of Atlantians sprawled across the ground, at the wolven surrounding the area. But Casteel’s gaze went to the single most important person in the room.

Poppy.

She stood in front of the tree, surrounded by the wolven, breathing heavily as crimson blood seeped from a wound on her temple. The sight of it had Casteel’s jaw hardening, features turning stark and blood boiling at the sight of her injured. It took one sweeping gaze to know the bodies that lay around the Temple floor were dead, unmoving. They had been the ones to hurt Poppy, to make her bleed, and their deaths, to Casteel, were justified. 

They’d made her bleed. They deserved nothing less.

Casteel looked at Poppy as he slowly descended the steps, keenly aware of more and more people gathering around him as they too entered the Temple. But his gaze remained locked on hers, taking in her dazed yet guarded expression, noting the subtle softening of her features that came with the relief at the sight of him, his heart lurching at the sight of her. Beautiful and in the possession of a kind of strength he hadn’t seen from anyone else, in all of his years of living.

He felt it, then. This power, radiating from her in waves of energy he’d never felt before. The blood rain had stopped, Casteel absently noted, and all that was left was Poppy, in front of a Blood Forest tree, watching as more and more people filled the Temple, as the wolven stopped circling her.

And Casteel stopped, eyes widening ever so slightly as he realized just who stood in front of him, as he realized who the woman he married, who he loved, was. “My Gods,” he spoke, the words feeling unsteady and accurate all in the same moment.

His gaze locked onto hers and he watched Poppy watch him unsheathe the swords strapped to his sides. The action invited warning growls from the wolven around Poppy— _protecting_ her—and Casteel’s heart thundered. In awe. He was utterly in awe of her, which was unsurprising yet just as thrilling. 

Casteel was vaguely aware of his parents arriving, didn’t so much as look towards them as his gaze held his wife’s, taking in the worry and wonder and hint of fear he beheld in those green eyes he’d fallen in love with without trying. 

Unexpected. She was completely and utterly unexpected, something he’d told her time and time again. It was just as true this time as he looked at her, aware of the rage thrumming his veins at the sight of the blood that stained her skin, aware of the electricity sparking his own blood as he drank her in. Incredible. She was, to put it in the simplest of terms, incredible.

Casteel lowered himself onto one knee, swords crossed as he bowed, the first one to do so, gaze locked on his wife as he vaguely heard his mother confirm what Poppy was— _who_ she was. A Queen. _His_ Queen. And it was about godsdamned time the world knew it.

  
  



End file.
